


Strange Bathfellows

by Nantai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill, Quidditch, Unresolved Sexual Tension, it's those two what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nantai/pseuds/Nantai
Summary: Marcus' seventh year is complicated enough without his crush on Oliver Wood or, worse, the guy himself interfering. Honestly, Marcus was just trying to take a relaxing bath after another lost Quidditch game.
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 261





	Strange Bathfellows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Colubrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colubrina/gifts).



> Vaguely set in the seventh year of the two/Harry's third year. A prompt fill for "Flintwood, post-Quidditch argument and UST" for the dearest Colubrina! A little pick-me-up for you my dear friend 💚 ReynardinePttr and perching_owl were my lovely beta readers!

Marcus glared balefully at the cluster of red and gold Quidditch players and fans on the other side of the field. They were so bloody obnoxious about their win! Especially Wood, carrying Potter on his shoulders and announcing for all the world to hear that he was the best seeker the Gryffindors could wish for. 

"If you glare a hole through Wood the 'Claws will win and I cannot stand to see Clearwater’s smug face during rounds," Adrian said, stepping up to Marcus. "What bothers you about him anyway?" 

"Look at his stupid grin," Marcus hissed through clenched teeth. "He acts like this is the best thing in the world. As if we wouldn't have won if Malfoy wasn't so busy staring at Potter."

Adrian patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be a sore loser, Marcus. At least not in front of them." 

Marcus grunted and turned away to head inside. He was nearly in the common room when he decided that he really, really deserved a bath in the prefect's bathroom. So he quickly went into his room to grab some things and then took a few secret passages to the prefect's bathroom ensuring he wouldn't have to run into anyone else. 

Wood's stupid grin was still bouncing around his head and it was with some frustration that Marcus threw open the door to the bathroom, starting to undress as soon as the door closed behind him. Just as he moved to the last fastening Marcus heard a startled yelp behind him and turned around slowly, one hand holding the unbuttoned trousers up. 

In the already filled bathtub, a red-faced Oliver was shakily pointing his wand at Marcus. Instinctively Marcus started to raise his hands and grabbed his trousers in the last moment before they could slide off his hips. 

"Wood," Marcus acknowledged with a nod, trying to look like he knew what he was doing (and probably failing utterly). 

"What are you doing here, Flint?" Wood asked, putting his wand back down on the bath towel lying next to the tub. 

"Well, I _intended_ to take a nice, long bath to forget that Malfoy again failed to unglue himself from Potter," Marcus said archly, closing his trousers back up again and pulling on his shirt. "But I'll just leave you to it." 

"I don't mind," Wood said rather abruptly. 

Marcus stopped in the middle of shrugging on his cloak. "What?" 

"Well, the bathtub is big enough, isn't it?" Wood asked, his accent thickening. 

Marcus stared at him for a moment. "I suppose it is." He contemplated it for a second and then shrugged. "If you really don't mind." 

Wood made a sweeping gesture. "Be my guest. But no Quidditch talk!" 

"Not with you anyway," Marcus scoffed, undressing again. But before he dropped his pants he checked to make sure Wood wasn't looking. 

The other was studying the ceiling. "Hurry up, my neck's starting to cramp." 

Marcus snorted, dropped his pants and quickly slipped into the warm water. "I would think you have enough neck muscles to prevent that from happening." 

"Why's that?" Oliver asked, an eyebrow raised in a clear challenge. 

Well, Marcus couldn't very well admit that he had been looking. Had noticed. "How else you gonna carry that big head of yours around?" 

Oliver sputtered in indignation and Marcus chuckled, leaning back against the rim. He felt how his muscles slowly unclenched. But with the relaxation, his mind turned to its favourite activity: thinking about Oliver Wood. 

"Why aren't you in your common room getting plastered?" Marcus asked after a while.

"I said no Quidditch talk," Oliver mumbled and when Marcus opened his eyes to look over to him he saw that the Scot had similarly relaxed into the warm water. 

"Isn't about Quidditch, only about the party I'm sure they're throwing up there," Marcus said with a shrug. 

Oliver sighed and answered just as Marcus started to think he wouldn't. "I'm still too keyed up, thinking about how if it wasn't for Harry we wouldn't have won. We rely too much on his ability to spot the snitch and do something crazy to get it before Malfoy." 

Marcus hummed. He tried to hold the comment back, but Oliver flicked some water and bubbles at him. "Spit it out, you look more constipated than usual." 

Marcus leaned back and closed his eyes again. "You said we shouldn't talk about Quidditch." 

"Just… just tell me," Oliver said, sounding surprisingly tired. 

"Your strategy of relying on your seeker is not entirely stupid, but what happens if Potter drops out of a game?" 

"You saw what would happen," Oliver remarked bitterly, clearly referring to Hufflepuff's last win against Gryffindor earlier in the year. 

"Don't you have a backup plan?" Marcus asked genuinely puzzled. "For when a player drops out for whatever reason?" 

"None of us are exactly replaceable," Oliver pointed out. "Imagine one of the twins having to play Beater with someone else." 

"Gryffindors… just because you've got a good team you shouldn't really rely on it staying that way," Marcus sneered, rolling his eyes. 

"So you got backup plans?" Oliver asked with a dry laugh. "And what's that? Cheat even more?" 

Marcus scowled. "We don't cheat, we just use every available loophole. And as it so happens I do have backup plans for each of us. But I won't tell you." 

"Oh come on! You can't tell me you train with two teams!" Oliver exclaimed, sitting up and leaning towards Marcus. "That'd be madness!" 

"It's called dedication," Marcus scoffed, spreading his arms along the rim of the bathtub. "Every one of our reserve players knows the main strategy inside and out, and the adjustments needed to accommodate different types of players." 

Oliver stared at him in disbelief. "You're taking the mickey!"

"Not at all," Marcus grinned, quite smug about being able to stun Oliver into near speechlessness. 

"Well, that at least explains why you had to retake the year," Oliver muttered. 

Marcus flinched at the quip. "At least I know that if I get into a pro-league team I'll be up to snuff." 

Oliver sent him a glare and submerged himself up to his nose. Marcus enjoyed the victory and stretched out in the water. This was really doing wonders for his mood. 

However, his mind was ever the traitor and started to think about how he was sharing a bathtub with a very naked Oliver. Suddenly, certain parts of Marcus' anatomy rose to the occasion and Marcus shot back into a sitting position. 

He needed to think about something else. Urgently. 

Malfoy fucking up again because he was too focused on Potter. Potter sitting on a grinning Oliver's shoulders. No, no, no. Wrong direction!

"Why do you use foul play so often?" Oliver asked suddenly and the question threw Marcus enough that he nearly recovered. 

Keeping his eyes closed to avoid looking at Oliver, he answered. "Calculated risk. We only foul if it brings us closer to gaining points or throws you off your game enough to make you make mistakes." 

"But we get penalty shots?" 

"Worth the risk, I trust my keeper to catch most of them." 

"And you enjoy it." 

Marcus startled and slipped underwater for a second. He came up spluttering and grabbing for his towel to get the water out of his eyes. Just when he remembered that he had left it further to the right a towel hit him in the head. Marcus used it to dry his face and wadded it up to throw it back at Oliver. 

Of course, the keeper caught it easily and Marcus itched to wipe that stupid grin from his face. Again.

"So, do you? Enjoy it, I mean," Oliver asked when they had settled back down. 

Marcus stared at the bubbles in front of him. "The adrenaline rush's nice. And pain passes." 

"Especially once Poppy gets her hands on you," Oliver said with a laugh and Marcus found himself grinning in agreement. 

"And it's not like we're the only ones playing it a bit rough," Marcus said, waggling his eyebrows. "You can't tell me the twins don't enjoy lobbing those bloody bludgers at us." 

"True, but that's because you're Slytherin," Oliver said with an air of nonchalance. But then his lips twitched and Marcus felt his thoughts screech to a rather sudden stop. 

Clearing his throat Marcus looked away, hoping his face wasn't burning. "So you're thinking exploiting loopholes is cheating?" 

"You're not following the rules, so yes, it is," Oliver said with a shrug. 

"But what if a situation isn't covered by the rules," Marcus asked, truly curious. "Maybe something caused by the advance in brooms and thus flying technique - would you call that against the rules as well?" 

"It would have to be carefully examined," Oliver answered slowly, playing with the foam of bubbles. "Some things might create an unfair advantage. For example, using much higher quality brooms for some but not all players on the field."

Marcus raised his eyebrows at Oliver. "You do realise what you're saying there…" 

"I do," Oliver said, lifting his chin. "And I'm only mostly okay with it because Malfoy has a broom that at least comes close to the Firebolt." 

"And seekers don't usually get involved with the overall strategy," Marcus added. "Alright, makes some sense. Still a bit hypocritical." 

"Well, I also think you have an unfair advantage with your Nimbus 2001s," Oliver said, folding his arms over his chest and shrugging. 

Marcus had to look away before answering. "You don't reject that kind of gift." 

"You mean, one that buys a player?" Oliver asked coldly, clearly still sore about that. 

"No, one from a man that quite literally could get half your fathers out of business," Marcus said, glaring at the mermaid on the window. "Or worse." 

"I didn't realise that," Oliver said, his voice small. "Sorry."

Marcus shrugged. "Gryffindors aren't raised to think that way." 

"Which way?" Oliver asked curiously. 

"Politically, considering all the angles, never taking anything at face value," Marcus answered. "I'm not even particularly good at it. Or like doing it for that matter." 

Oliver didn't answer and when Marcus glanced over at him Oliver looked far too sympathetic for his liking. 

"I like using it for Quidditch, getting the best possible outcome," Marcus added quickly. "It just gets annoying when you're just trying to have breakfast." 

Only after Oliver's face became even sadder Marcus realised that what he said hadn't made it any better. 

Marcus wished the ground would swallow him whole. "It's not as bad as it sounds." 

"It sounds pretty tiring," Oliver said with a shrug. 

They lapsed into silence for a while and Marcus started to enjoy this kind of nearly civil conversation with Oliver. Usually, they were at each other's throats within seconds of laying eyes on the other. 

"You know that there is a rumour that they want to revive the Triwizard Tournament this year?" Marcus asked, not quite understanding why he was telling Oliver that. 

"Well, I for one am glad I won't be there for it," Oliver mumbled. Marcus had to force himself to look away from the exposed column of Oliver's neck. He didn't know when he had started to yearn to kiss that neck instead of wringing it. 

"Yeah, would mean no Quidditch, wouldn't it?" Marcus said, laughing. "That would be absolutely terrible." 

"You're probably the only person that I trust to mean that seriously," Oliver said, joining his laugh. 

Marcus grinned. "That’s because you're the only other person at this school who thinks like that." 

"Imagine if we had been in the same house," Oliver chuckled. "I think our housemates would have been driven crazy."

"And no other house would have won a match against us as soon as I became Captain," Marcus said with a grin. 

"And why would you become Captain? Why not me?" Oliver asked, with a challenging tone. 

"Because I'm older," Marcus said with a shrug, smirking at Oliver. 

"McGonagall gives the Captain badge to the most deserving person," Oliver scoffed. 

"Who said I would be in Gryffindor?" Marcus said with a snort. "That's fucking unlikely." 

"Me in Slytherin?" Oliver asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Marcus shrugged. "You're really ambitious about Quidditch, if maybe not cunning enough."

Oliver looked thoughtful. "I don't think I would ever be comfortable playing Quidditch like you." 

Marcus shrugged, not quite certain what he should say to that. But he couldn't help wondering what it would have been like to be in the same house as Oliver, to not be separated by several layers of contempt and competition. His crush would probably have been even worse. (Marcus doubted he would have acted on it though, Oliver wouldn't reciprocate after all.). 

Oliver sighed. "I think I have to get to the common room, it's getting late." 

Marcus startled and cast a Tempus charm. Indeed it was a quarter to ten and while the prefects of Slytherin tended to overlook him being out late after a game it was not ideal. Cursing Marcus levered himself up, snatching his towel up as he went. 

But when Marcus slanted a quick look at Oliver (he wasn't checking him out, honest!) he noticed a huge bruise blooming over Oliver's ribs. At first, Marcus was confused but then he remembered the manoeuvre that had been designed to make Oliver get out of the way. Oliver had crashed against the goal post - instead of just flying down or up. Apparently the crash had been worse than Marcus thought and suddenly he felt bad about it. 

"That looks painful," Marcus remarked quietly, getting out the bruise balm for his left elbow which had had a close acquaintance with a bludger. 

"Only when I breathe," Oliver said with an easy grin. "Nothing broken, thankfully." 

When Marcus finished rubbing the balm into his elbow he wordlessly offered the tub to Oliver who took it with a look of surprise on his face. 

"Thank you," Oliver said quietly. 

After a moment of watching Oliver struggle to raise his arm enough to reach the bruise Marcus huffed and stepped closer. 

"Let me, or we'll never make it out of here in time," Marcus said, but much of the usual vitriol was lacking and he feared he sounded downright fond. 

Of course, the close proximity to Oliver didn't really make not thinking inappropriate thoughts easier. Marcus gently slid his fingers over the bruised skin, careful not to tickle or hurt Oliver any further.

Marcus reached the area around Oliver's nipple and he had to start reciting potions ingredients in his mind to keep from springing a boner. The soft shudder that went through Oliver at the touch was so very tantalising and Marcus wished he could chase it with more than just his mind. 

When he was done Oliver didn't step away as Marcus had expected him to. On the contrary, he seemed to sway closer, his eyes focused on Marcus'. 

"If I kissed you now," Oliver breathed. "Would you punch me?" 

"Can't say I would," Marcus said, his voice hoarse. 

He leaned in, feeling Oliver's breath on his lips already when the door was flung open with a crash. 

"Flint, you still alive?" a voice called followed by a sharp. 

"Oliver!" 

Marcus slowly screwed the top of the tub back on and turned to face the two prefects standing in the doorway. 

"Prefects," Marcus said calmly, greeting the sixth-years with a nod. "Is it curfew already?" 

The Gryffindor, Jolanda something, narrowed her eyes at him. "That bruise better be from the game." 

"It is, don't worry," Oliver piped up, pulling his shirt on with some difficulty. "Flint was just helping me with the bruise balm." 

Warrington narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything else. Marcus knew what it looked like to him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

Marcus hurried through getting dressed the rest of the way while the prefects went to wait outside. Sadly he was far too focused on being fast to steal any proper looks at Oliver's body. Which really was a shame. 

They nodded at each other outside and wordlessly turned to walk to their respective common rooms. Strangely, Marcus felt less relaxed than he had before the bath. He could still feel Oliver's breath whispering over his lips and he cursed the prefects to hell and back for not coming a minute earlier, or later. 

* * *

The next morning at breakfast Marcus sent a paper plane sailing at Wood over the heads of the other students. He hoped that no one else would dare to read it. 

Wood read the message, his eyes widening for a second before he looked up at Marcus and nodded seriously, his expression stormy. Anyone who watched the exchange would assume that they had set up a time for a duel or something like that. 

Well, everyone safe for Warrington of course. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell the whole team.

Marcus spent his classes being even more fidgety than usual and he couldn't concentrate on a word any of the professors said. At least he didn't have Charms anymore or he might very well have blown up the classroom and that would have been the last thing he needed. 

Marcus skipped dinner and stopped by the kitchen for some snacks and then had to force himself to take the long way around to the abandoned classroom on the third floor. 

He had barely opened the door when someone grabbed the front of his robe and roughly pulled him into the room. The door fell shut behind him and Marcus was pushed up against it. 

Eager lips met his and Marcus relaxed into Oliver's arms, kissing him back with vigour. 

When they finally parted for breath Oliver grinned at him. "Couldn't risk anyone interrupting us a second time."

"Seems to have worked," Marcus said, his voice rough. "I brought snacks." 

"Oh good, because I couldn't stomach anything at dinner," Oliver said with an embarrassed smile. 

They sat down on a desk and unpacked the small feast the elves had prepared for Marcus. Oliver joked that they apparently thought he ate his own weight in food. 

Marcus blushed at that and admitted that the assumption wasn't that far off. "I usually stop by after training or a game, so, of course, I'm pretty hungry." 

Oliver laughed. "Certainly easier to do when your common room is down there." 

"The twins don't seem to have a problem with that?" Marcus half-asked, he had seen them in the kitchens often enough to know that. Especially after games the Gryffs won. 

"I am nearly certain they're made of raw energy instead of flesh and bone," Oliver grumbles goodnaturedly. 

Marcus grinned and dusted the last of the crumbs of his fingers. "We got about three hours till curfew." 

Oliver's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Then we really shouldn't waste them, should we?" 

But they did. Because somewhere between kisses and fumbling hands Oliver mumbled how this nearly made up for Marcus' penchant for the Transylvanian Tackle and then they discussed the merits of calculated foul play on the Quidditch field. Team formations are drawn on the blackboard and everything. 

About halfway through discussing a complicated manoeuvre the Falmouth Falcons had pulled off in the previous season the tempus charm Oliver had set went off. Begrudgingly they packed their things. 

They shared one last searing kiss before bolting back to their respective common rooms. 

Marcus felt so giddy that even coming into the common room to hear Malfoy go on about Potter couldn't dampen his mood. 

Montague dropped down next to Marcus when he sat down in front of a fireplace to get at least some of his homework done. 

"So did you and Wood finally fuck your brains out?" Montague asked, nearly Gryffindorish in his bluntness. 

"Why would you think that?" Marcus asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the sheet of parchment in front of him. He was keenly aware of the entire team leaning in to listen “subtly”. 

"Because you came in with a dopey grin and didn't even try to swat Malfoy for ranting about Potter again," Adrian pointed out smugly. 

"And why would I fuck Wood?" Marcus grunted, raising an eyebrow. 

The team groaned as one. 

"Are you honestly still pretending that you aren't into Wood?" Warrington asked, shock palpable in his voice. "Even Malfoy noticed!" 

Marcus blushed and huffed. "We didn't fuck, we discussed Quidditch." 

His teammates were silent for a second. 

"You know," Montague started slowly. "If it was anybody but the two of you I would call bullshit." 

"You done prying now? Marcus grumbled. "Because Snape won't give us extra training time if I don't hand this in onin time." 

The team slowly dispersed until only Adrian was still sitting next to Marcus. "For what it's worth I'm happy for the two of you. As long as you keep it off the pitch." 

Marcus scoffed. "Who do you think we are?"

Adrian laughed and got out his own parchment and quill. "Good point." 


End file.
